


tell me about a complicated man

by Blyth3



Category: The Queen's Thief - Megan Whalen Turner
Genre: Academia, F/M, I'm so sorry I chose various formats that make this super long and spaced out lmao, Museums, Mythology - Freeform, POV Outsider, Pseudo-History, Spies & Secret Agents, Theatre, Time Skips, Unconventional Format, WHOOPS I thought I was done with this but then I added another section, Worldbuilding: Theatre - Freeform, Writing, also I wrote part of this while LITERALLY IN GREECE, and had way too much fun with the worldbuilding in the fourth section, and yes I did drag all five books with me to Europe, strongly inspired by the Dalemark Quartet by DWJ
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-30 09:48:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15749226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blyth3/pseuds/Blyth3
Summary: ATTOLIS enters, wearing a purple jacket that is too big for HIM. HE is followed by FIVE ATTENDANTS. ATTENDANT ONE is holding a yellow sash.(Or, the history of a play.  Written for Hamiathes' Gift Exchange 2018)





	tell me about a complicated man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Prinzenhasserin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prinzenhasserin/gifts).



_ATTOLIS enters, wearing a purple jacket that is too big for HIM. HE is followed by FIVE ATTENDANTS. ATTENDANT ONE is holding a yellow sash._

 

ATTENDANT ONE

Will this do, Your Majesty?

 

ATTOLIS

Not at all. Can’t you find one that matches?

 

 _ATTENDANT TWO holds up a blue sash_ _with embroidery_ _that does, indeed, match. HE cuts it with HIS bel_ _t_ _knife, winking broadly at the audience._

 

ATTENDANT TWO

This one, Your Majesty?

 

ATTOLIS

It’s ripped! What happened? It was fine yesterday.

 

ATTENDANT THREE

Perhaps, Your Majesty, it caught on your, uh—

 

 _ATTENDANT ONE makes a “hook” gesture with his hand_ _while ATTOLIS isn’t looking_ _._

 

ATTOLIS

_(stupidly)_

My what?

 

 _ATTENDANT FOUR pretends to trip, and knocks an open inkpot onto ATTOLIS’S jacket._ _ATTOLIS screams shrilly._ _ATTENDANT FIVE holds up many sashes, none of which go with the now ink-stained jacket._

 

ATTENDANT FIVE

These, Your Majesty?

 

_VARIOUS ATTENDANTS approach ATTENDANT FIVE and proceed to ~~take the sashes and~~ ~~step~~_

_~~get ink on the~~ _

_~~push ATTENDANT FIVE over~~ _

 

“I’m running out of things for them to do,” Emilios said glumly, setting his vellum down on the grass. He rolled over onto his back and stared up at the sky, trying to ignore the small shrub that was now poking him in the neck.

“Didn’t Baron Erondites give you a list?” Sophia said, looking up from her embroidery. She was practicing a new pattern, something floral.

“Yes,” Emilios said, gesturing broadly, “but the man has no sense of artistry. I don’t write _slapstick_.” Sophia snorted in a decidedly unladylike manner.

“You’ve written one half-decent play that got popular locally. He only picked you because he can force you to write this, you’re not allowed to have artistic sensibilities yet.”

“Alright, fine,” Emilios said, rolling back onto his stomach and looking up at his sister where she was sitting on a rock. “I’m _bad_ at writing slapstick.” Sophia put her embroidery down and held her hand out, smirking.

“Let me see. I’ll fix it.”

Emilios sighed, but handed his writing over; he’d never admit it, but his little sister was probably a better writer than he was, although poetry was her strong point. He shredded a long blade of grass while she read.

“Well?” he said as soon as she finished.

“You’re trying to do the actors’ jobs _for_ them. You don’t have to say exactly what the costumes look like, and you don’t have to tell them what to do. Just put in a stage direction telling them to choreograph some slapstick and they’ll figure it out. It’s their job, and they’re better at it than you anyway—they probably do things like this all the time. Same with the costume designers.”

“But where do I _stop_ doing that?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well…” Emilios frowned and started to pick apart more grass. “Why can’t I just write a page that says, ‘the actors say funny things and make fun of our king—who could do horrible things to us if he wanted, by the way—and they spill some ink and trip him and later there are dogs’?”

“Alright, maybe the actors aren’t _that_ smart,” Sophia said. “They can’t write the play for you.”

“ _You_ could write the play for me,” Emilios said wistfully.

“I’m not the one who got my stupid self commissioned by the baron who owns our land,” Sophia said. “And anyway, he’s much more of an immediate threat than the king.”

“I know, I know.”

“Just calm down,” Sophia said. “If you fail miserably at this, I’ll lead a revolution and overthrow Baron Erondites.”

Emilios laughed, but then looked around the deserted meadow, just in case someone had wandered by in time to overhear his mildly treasonous sister.

“You don’t have to control everything about the play, Emilios.”

“You’re right,” he said.

“I’m always right.” Sophia went back to her embroidery, swearing when she stabbed herself with the needle. Emilios stared at the vellum.

“It’s just that I feel bad writing this,” he said, looking up again.

“Hm?”

“I don’t like making fun of a man because he’s only got one hand.”

“You make fun of me all the time,” Sophia said, kicking her legs out to emphasize the fact that her left one ended below the knee. She knocked her crutch over in the process, and swore (again) when she almost toppled off the rock she was sitting on while she picked it up. Emilios smirked.

“That’s different,” he said. “You’re my little sister, it’s my _job_ to make fun of you. _And_ you were born that way, it’s not like your future wife chopped it off. But I’d much rather make fun of him for being a jumped-up goatherd who had to kidnap a woman just to find someone to marry.”

“Charis thinks it’s sort of romantic,” Sophia said, focusing back on her embroidery. Emilios raised his eyebrows.

“Oh, Charis thinks that, does she?”

“That’s what she told me,” Sophia said, blushing furiously while stabbing the fabric in her hand with unnecessary aggression.

“What _else_ does she think is romantic?”

“None of your business!”

“Did you write her another poem?” Emilios said, waggling his eyebrows.

“Maybe.”

“Can I see it?”

“No!” Sophia said, and hit him over the head with her embroidery hoop.

 

-

 

Irene felt a slight breeze against her back as the hidden door in her bedchamber slid open. She continued to sit at her vanity and stare at the note in her hand, now wrinkled from how hard she was gripping it.

“You can’t kill an entire troupe of actors, dear,” her husband said as he entered.

“Why not?” Irene said, aware that she sounded like a petulant child.

“Artistic freedom?” Eugenides offered vaguely. Irene sighed and put the note down next to the earrings she’d taken off a few minutes before.

“The playwright seems to know a great deal about the goings-on of the palace,” she said, turning. She blinked. “You have a cobweb in your hair.” Eugenides raised his hand. “No, to the left. My left. There you go.”

“No one ever cleans in there,” he said. “They’re _secret_ corridors.”

“Hm,” Irene said. “Be that as it may, one of your attendants appears to be gossiping. Or it may be that pet guard of yours.”

“It’s Sejanus. I don’t think any of the others have the imagination.”

“You’re sure?”

“Mostly,” Eugenides said, wiggling his hand as he sat on the bed and started to pull his boots off. Irene noted absently that they were the special soft-soled ones he’d brought from Eddis; they were wearing out, and a hole was starting to develop in the right one. “I heard that Baron Erondites commissioned the play, although it may have been Sejanus using his father’s name.”

“That’s dangerously close to treason. I could—”

“No, no, I’ve got a plan.” He finished with his boots and flopped backwards, throwing his arm over his eyes. Irene stood and walked towards the bed.

“Tell me about your plan,” she said. Her husband looked up at her and grinned, reaching for her waist.

 

-

 

Heiro frowned at the stage as she adjusted her wig, hoping that her disguise really was as effective as Relius had said it would be. The play he’d sent her to watch had started, and she could already tell it would be just like all the others she’d been assigned to go to. The actor playing Attolis was smudged with burnt cork to suggest darker skin, and was currently running away from another actor in a comedically bad dog costume. (Heiro wasn’t sure if the quality of the costume was intentional or not.) The actors went back and forth across the stage several times, Attolis tripping over things and just barely keeping ahead. The audience thought this was all hilarious, of course.

She sighed and rubbed her forehead, looking away from the stage. Why had Relius sent her to yet another play? She’d thought he was done with this when she hadn’t been sent out for the last two weeks, but here she was again.

There was another surge of laughter, and she closed her eyes. Could she get away with leaving? There was no telling if Relius would know—she might be the only one here, or there might be a dozen other plants in the audience. Well, maybe not a dozen, since this theatre was awfully small.

“Oh!” said the woman to Heiro’s right—middle-aged, fair-haired, accompanied by a gaggle of children.

Heiro looked up, and raised her eyebrows. While she had been thinking, the actor playing Attolis had jumped on top of a thin, wobbly fence that was installed towards stage left. The man was flailing his arms around, wobbling to and fro, but he hadn’t actually fallen; his balance was impressive. Still, the actor playing the dog was running towards the fence. The amateur acrobatics were unique among all the plays Heiro had watched, but she knew the ending would still be the same.

The allegéd dog crashed into the fence, and there was a matching sound effect from backstage. Heiro suspected it came from someone bashing two cheap cooking pots together. To her surprise, the collision affected the dog more than Attolis—the unfortunate creature went sprawling, while Attolis neatly flipped off the fence, doing a somersault before standing. The audience laughed, and a few people even cheered as the so-called dog slunk offstage.

 _Maybe the acrobatics aren’t so amateur_ , Heiro thought, as the actor playing Attolis winked at a woman in the audience. She yelled something at him, but it sounded encouraging rather than offended. Heiro grinned. _My afternoon’s going to be_ so _much more interesting than I thought_.

 

-

 

“And now we’re going to skip ahead a few thousand years!” the tour guide said. She was a tall woman with darker skin, bouncing enthusiastically around the museum and waving her arms. “I present to you… our very own hometown heroes!” Her gaggle of tourists stared back at her blankly. “They’re writers?” the tour guide offered. “Any guesses?” There was a vague mumbling.

“That uh, poet woman,” a teenaged girl offered. “I think her name was Sophie?” The girl had short, pink hair and an eyebrow piercing. It seemed likely she knew perfectly well that that was the wrong name, and furthermore, she probably owned several translated volumes of the work of said “poet woman”.

“You’re close, her name was Sophia. And one of her contemporaries was…?”

“Emilios of Kriti,” someone in the back said.

“You’ve got it!” the tour guide said as she led her group into a small room, tucked away to the side of the museum—most of its exhibits focused on the even more ancient ruins that had been excavated on this island. “Now, you’ll notice that this exhibit is very different from our others. Both Emilios and Sophia were known for their writing, which means that we don’t have many lasting original artifacts. We _do_ have this stone tablet with one of Sophia’s poems, which she commissioned as a gift for someone who identity remains a mystery, as Sophia only addressed the poem to ‘my love’.” The tour guide raised an eyebrow. “She did, however, use the feminine form.” The pink-haired girl smirked.

“Over here, you can see illustrations depicting how we believe Emilios’s plays would have been staged, costumed, and acted. He was very successful, and Attolia Irene later hired him as the official court playwright—this was before the volcano, of course—so he was able to afford lavish costuming and sets.”

“I thought he was just the playwright,” someone said.

“Ah, yes, well many contemporaries described him as—frankly, a bit of a control freak. Emilios of Kriti generally directed his own plays, although by all accounts he did a good job of it, especially later in his career. Now over here, you can see a pair of busts depicting the two writers. These are not, unfortunately, originals. They are reproductions of a pair of real busts that we do not currently have available to us.”

“Why’s that?” one of the tourists asked.

“Well,” said the tour guide, “Medeans _do_ love shiny things. About two hundred years ago, Lord Sheremet of Mede—formerly the Mede Empire—visited our lovely island and decided that marble busts would make an excellent decoration for his mantelpiece. Luckily, Medean archaeologists confiscated the busts before he could damage them with soot and smoke, but unfortunately they still reside in the Museum of Zabrisa. Our government has been negotiating to have them returned for almost twenty years.”

“That’s terrible!” said a young man.

“I couldn’t agree more,” the tour guide said, her hands on her hips.

“Excuse me ma’am?” The tour guide looked down to see a solemn young girl.

“Yes?”

“Did they know each other?”

“Who?”

“The writers.”

“Well,” the tour guide said with a grin, “you’ve asked me about one of my _favorite_ topics. Not only were Emilios and Sophia from the same area, they were writing around the same time. We believe Emilios started his writing career earlier than Sophia, but not by much. It’s highly likely they knew each other. Furthermore, _I_ believe that they were fairly close. There are certain turns of phrase that show up in some of Emilios’s work that some scholars feel are distinctly _Sophian_. It’s highly unlikely that they were in a relationship, of course, but it’s possible they were colleagues, close friends, or perhaps even related.”

“That’s a fascinating theory,” said an extremely tweedy-looking old man. “May I ask what your name is, young lady?”

“Genia,” the tour guide said, with a sinking feeling in her stomach.

 

“Really?” Frannie said when Genia found her in the breakroom. “You got caught editorializing _again_?”

“I didn’t know he taught Classics,” Genia moaned, resting her head on the table. “And it’s not like I’m wrong.”

“Yeah, I know, you showed me the papers that back you up about the similarities,” Frannie said. She took a sip of her coffee. “I mean, I didn’t understand a word, but you sure showed ‘em to me.”

“Old fuddy duddy doesn’t pay attention to the cutting edge,” Genia muttered. “I should’ve stuck with being a _gymnast_ instead of a History major.”

"But then you hurt your wrist."

"Yeah, but then I hurt my wrist."  Genia frowned and absentmindedly rotated said wrist.  It clicked.

“If it helps, I think you’re mostly in trouble for the political part.”

“But the Medes did steal the busts!” Genia said, sitting upright and glaring indignantly at her friend. “Those aren’t the only ones, either! Their museums are full of our stuff!”

“I know,” Frannie said. “I agree with you, you know that. But maybe not in front of the tourists?”

“They’re _ours_ ,” Genia said sulkily. Frannie didn't understand; she was from the _Continent_.  Almost Genia's whole family were locals, going back generations, a mix of Attolians, Eddisians, Sounisians, and more besides. “And the Medeans refuse to give them up.”

“Who knows,” Frannie said. “Maybe someone’ll pull a Queen’s Thief and steal them back for us someday.”

“Yeah,” Eugenia Stavros said, tracing the scar on her cheek. “Maybe someone will.”

 

-

 

 **From:** June Abe,  <jabe@classics.upoc.edu>

 **To:** George Rigas,  <grigas@uferria.edu>

 **Subject:** ha HA

 **Date:** 02.16.1266, 9:03 am

 

George--

!!

\--June

 

\---

_Professor June Abe_

_Classics Department_

_UPoc Shawmut_

_22-1-413-9070-36_

 

 **From:** George Rigas,  <grigas@uferria.edu>

 **To:** June Abe,  <jabe@classics.upoc.edu>

 **Subject:** RE: ha HA

 **Date:** 02.17.1266, 5:49 pm

 

What?

 

\---

_sent from my eVox_

 

 **From:** June Abe,  <jabe@classics.upoc.edu>

 **To:** George Rigas,  <grigas@uferria.edu>

 **Subject:** RE: RE: ha HA

 **Date:** 02.18.1266, 8:22 am

 

George--

You’ll find out on Friday.

\--June

 

\---

_Professor June Abe_

_Classics Department_

_UPoc Shawmut_

_22-1-413-9070-36_

 

 **From:** George Rigas,  <grigas@uferria.edu>

 **To:** June Abe,  <jabe@classics.upoc.edu>

 **Subject:** that’s spooky as hell, june

 **Date:** 02.18.1266, 4:58 pm

 

Fine, be mysterious. How are you? How’s your wife?

 

\---

_Professor George Rigas_

_Classics and Theology Department_

_University of Ferria_

_Office 102, Gamma Building_

 

 **From:** June Abe,  <jabe@classics.upoc.edu>

 **To:** George Rigas,  <grigas@uferria.edu>

 **Subject:** RE: that’s spooky as hell, june

 **Date:** 02.19.1266, 7:36 am

 

George--

I’m well, thanks. Pilar’s off in the mountains right now, hunting down endangered plants. How are you? How did the surgery go? How are your kids?

\--June

 

\---

_Professor June Abe_

_Classics Department_

_UPoc Shawmut_

_22-1-413-9070-36_

 

 **From:** George Rigas,  <grigas@uferria.edu>

 **To:** June Abe,  <jabe@classics.upoc.edu>

 **Subject:** RE: RE: that’s spooky as hell, june

 **Date:** 02.19.1266, 5:54 pm

 

I’m fine, the surgery went well. The kids are alright, although I think Eleni is going to

 

\---

_sent from my eVox_

 

 **From:** George Rigas,  <grigas@uferria.edu>

 **To:** June Abe,  <jabe@classics.upoc.edu>

 **Subject:** YOU BASTARD

 **Date:** 02.19.1266, 6:00 pm

 

YOU FOUND IT

YOU FOUND THE DRAFT

 

\---

_sent from my eVox_

 

 **From:** June Abe,  <jabe@classics.upoc.edu>

 **To:** George Rigas,  <grigas@uferria.edu>

 **Subject:** RE: YOU BASTARD

 **Date:** 02.20.1266, 1:02 am

 

I DID! GEORGE, I FOUND IT! I’VE BEEN SITTING ON THIS FOR SO LONG

You won’t believe the wild goode chase I went on altho I guess it’s not a wild goose chase because I found it, there was a citation is a copy of a copy of a Victorian article that was total hogawash and then ! I found out that a copy of the Regeneration paper I was ciitng was at Pan Peninsula. And you KNOW I have two of my odl grad students working there and of COURSe it wasn’t in the digital archive so I got one of them to talk to her boyfriend because he’s the archivist’s best friend and the archivist said “sure fine whatever” and finally scanned it and then I had to WAIT because someoen else pounced on it first and checked out the digital copy but they returned it righrt away.

GEORGE IT HAD QUOTES

ATTOLIS EUGENIDES WAS A REAL PERSON

DON’T FORGET OUR BET :-)

 

\---

_Professor June Abe_

_Classics Department_

_UPoc Shawmut_

_22-1-413-9070-36_

 

 **From:** George Rigas,  <grigas@uferria.edu>

 **To:** June Abe,  <jabe@classics.upoc.edu>

 **Subject:** RE: RE: YOU BASTARD

 **Date:** 02.20.1266, 8:15 am

 

Go to sleep, you loon. It doesn’t _prove_ that he was real.

 

\---

_Professor George Rigas_

_Classics and Theology Department_

_University of Ferria_

_Office 102, Gamma Building_

 

 **From:** June Abe,  <jabe@classics.upoc.edu>

 **To:** George Rigas,  <grigas@uferria.edu>

 **Subject:** loon?

 **Date:** 02.20.1266, 4:21 pm

 

George--

Sorry about the incomprehensible 1 am rant—you know how I get after a glass of wine. Yes, I know it doesn’t prove that he was real, but it ties into Ed’s theory pretty well and the surviving quotes make sense with the speculated political climate. If Attolia Irene entered into an entirely symbolic marriage with the god Eugenides, why would people be so upset about him personally? I can see them being unhappy about the situation, but you don’t go around making fun of a god. (And anyway, there’s always been a lot of inconsistency around why she would be symbolically marrying Eugenides, of all the options. Yes, he was somewhat linked with Eddis and she needed to ally with their country, but there are other Eddisian gods, and the thief seems like an odd choice. If a woman ruling alone marries a god to get her barons to stop bothering her, surely she’d choose someone a bit scarier?)

These quotes from the early draft by Emilios of Kriti (and yes I put a lot of work into verifying this, it’s legit as far as anyone can tell) paint Attolis Eugenides as a bumbling fool. They’re nothing like Emilios’s later work, the more well-known stuff, where the man’s essentially a benevolent trickster god, and/or a romantic figure. Why else would the narrative change like that unless he was a real person that the citizens slowly warmed up to? I know, I know, there are certainly other reasons. But I’m just saying, it makes sense with the existing theories.

Honestly, we know so little about the civilizations of the Little Peninsula, since so many of their records were destroyed in the eruption--that's why I'm looking the islands for stuff. I don’t see why everyone claims that a lack of evidence of Eugenides Attolis’s existence proves he wasn’t real, when there’s so little evidence for any theory we could form about him. (Except mine, of course. :-P)

And before you bring it up, I know there are no records of Attolia Irene ever having an heir, but saying that means she never married is _lazy_.

\--June

 

\---

_Professor June Abe_

_Classics Department_

_UPoc Shawmut_

_22-1-413-9070-36_

 

 

 **From:** George Rigas,  <grigas@uferria.edu>

 **To:** June Abe,  <jabe@classics.upoc.edu>

 **Subject:** RE: loon?

 **Date:** 02.21.1266, 9:01 am

 

Yeah, yeah, I did read your article June, you are actually my friend and also a brilliant academic, you don’t need to rewrite it in my inbox. How do you explain the later works, from Emilios and his contemporaries, that paint Attolis Eugenides in a positive light?

 

\---

_sent from my eVox_

 

 **From:** June Abe,  <jabe@classics.upoc.edu>

 **To:** George Rigas,  <grigas@uferria.edu>

 **Subject:** RE: RE: loon?

 **Date:** 02.20.1266, 6:13 pm

 

George--

Aw, glad to know you care. :-)

And I don’t know that one yet. I guess the guy must’ve done something pretty spectacular.

\--June

 

\---

_Professor June Abe_

_Classics Department_

_UPoc Shawmut_

_22-1-413-9070-36_

 

-

 

The audience applauded as the chorus took their bows, but they _really_ started cheering when the actor playing Attolis (a second-generation Eddisian immigrant, burnt cork nowhere to be seen) came downstage. Several audience members even rose to their feet when he bowed. He smiled broadly, hamming it up, before he gestured to the actress who had played Attolia.

“Alright,” the real Attolia said in her husband’s ear, leaning in from where she was hidden in the secluded balcony of the theatre. “I suppose they can live.”

Attolis threw back his head and laughed.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're curious, there are lots of ways to pronounce Eugenia. I personally prefer yew-HEN-ee-uh.  
> Ao3 unfortunately doesn't let you indent, so let me know if you want a PDF of the version with the nice script formatting and everything.  
> The title is the first line of Emily Wilson's translation of the Odyssey, which I haven't read yet, but I read an article where she explained some of her choices in translating that first line (https://www.nytimes.com/2017/11/02/magazine/the-first-woman-to-translate-the-odyssey-into-english.html) and it really got me thinking about perspectives and how who you are affects what you're going to get out of your interpretation of something. (Disclaimer: this makes me sound like a Classics major, but I am not, which is why all the historical bits are so handwave-y here.)


End file.
